You write haiku and orchestrate
cantatas in the den;
we hitchhike as you perorate,
then hitchhike back again.
Your one-act plays and villanelles
are bleak and unromantic;
expressionism suits you well,
but living makes you frantic.
Your renaissance won’t pay the rent,
we’ve done the psychodrama,
the bills are not a nonevent,
and I am not your mama.
My paycheck has been stretched beyond
its means, and when you wave
your fingers like a magic wand,
I want to dig your grave.
First published in Poetry Nottingham (UK).
Terese Coe‘s poems and translations have appeared in Light as well as in the UK (Agenda, The Times Literary Supplement, Poetry Review, The Moth, and many others), and the US (Poetry, New American Writing, Threepenny Review, Hopkins Review, and many others). Her latest collection, Shot Silk, was nominated for the Poet’s Prize 2017. For more information see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terese_Coe.